


falling in love is a strange work of art

by transtlanticism



Category: Project Nemesis Series - Brendan Reichs
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, F/M, as much as it pains me noah is a good guy in this one, i dont love rose and derrick die mad about it, it's all very angsty, mentions of most of the characters here and there, min thinks tack is in the wrong tack thinks min is in the wrong, obviously saralice bc yeah, so all you noah stans can put down your pitchforks bc im not coming at you today, some richie/jamie too bc i miss them, sorry 4 the norose i just didnt really know who else to pair him with and i wanted to add rose, starts out with some minoah for Background Purposes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-06-30 11:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtlanticism/pseuds/transtlanticism
Summary: SOULMATE AU—On Min and Noah's shared nineteenth birthday, they're expecting their soulmate marks to match. What Min didn't expect was to receive the same mark as her childhood best friend, Tack. The catch? They haven't spoken in two years.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone is actually reading this expect some SLOW ass updates

DECEMBER 2019

I sit at the table with my phone, staring down at the screen, the cursor blinking over an empty text message. The last text in this particular thread was sent April 24th. From me. No reply.

I haven’t spoken to Thomas Russo since that day. And before that, since January. And before that—

I don’t really want to think about senior year. It was hard enough being in close proximity to Tack and not having him around. It’s harder being at different colleges. 

But it’s his birthday, and I’ve never _not_ been with him on his birthday, and I have to send a message. I have to. I—

“Something wrong?” Someone slides into the seat across from me, setting a paper plate loaded with salad onto the table. I look up just as my phone shuts off from disuse, because I haven’t actually typed anything.

_Should I call?_

“Hey,” I say, looking up to see Noah Livingston. I pick up the coffee he slides toward me and take a long sip. “Uh, no, not really. Just…”

“Just?” 

Snow falls thick and fast out the window we’re sitting next to, coating the campus in layers of white. It’s beautiful, but my mood won’t allow me to enjoy it. I set the phone on the table, facedown. “It’s Tack’s birthday,” I explain. “I…I was going to text him. But I don’t know what to say?”

Noah lifts his eyebrows. “He didn’t text you for your birthday,” he points out.

I feel compelled to defend him for that, but it’s not going to fly, since I ended up staring at my phone until midnight, waiting for a text that was never sent. “I know. But…” 

“Min, don’t drive yourself crazy over this,” he says, reaching across the table and plucking my phone from where it’s lying. “Don’t bother with Tack. He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want you around.”

He’s right, but my mood sours even more. 

“I miss him,” I say quietly. “I should…I should reach out. It’s what I wanted him to do for me.”

Noah doesn’t stop me as I grab my phone back, digging into his salad and occasionally reaching over to steal one of my untouched fries. I’m hardly eating lunch, eyes fixed on the name at the top of the screen, deleting words as fast as I type them. By the time I have to start walking to my next class, all I’ve got written is _happy birthday._

Feeling like an idiot, I trash the message and shut off my phone. “I’ll see you at six,” I mutter, sweeping my stuff into my bag and heading for the door.

“Hey!” Noah leaps to his feet and draws me in to kiss me. “Six o’clock,” he repeats, looking me in the eyes. “We can get super drunk tonight and not think about Tack Russo, maybe?”

I force a smile, hitching my bag over my shoulder. “Sure. Yeah. I mean, we have classes tomorrow, because, uh, it’s Monday, but sure. I’m down.”

Another thing occurs to me as I push my way out the door.

It’s Tack’s nineteenth birthday. Nineteen is _kind of_ an important one. 

Tack gets his soulmate mark today. 

…

It’s almost eleven. Noah’s asleep on the floor of his dorm room and I’m leaning up against his roommate’s bed, eyes swimming slightly, staring at my screen again. I’m definitely a little drunk. The half-empty bottle of tequila on the floor was mostly drained by Noah and Derrick, but I’ve had a few shots, and I’ve still got nothing besides _happy birthday._

The door swings open and Derrick Morris pokes his head in, glancing at Noah on the floor. “Is he good?”

“He’s snoring,” I say. “Loudly.”

Derrick rolls his eyes. “You can head out if you need to. Don’t feel obligated to make sure his drunk ass gets to bed.”

“That’s just because you want him to sleep on the floor,” I accuse, and Derrick grins at me before reaching out a hand to help me to my feet. 

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Noah’s roommate at first—he’s ridiculously tall, a basketball player, unnervingly talented at bringing alcohol into the dorm undetected, and good friends with the dickhead who sits at the back of the room during my bio lectures—but Derrick is a great guy, always incredibly friendly. I’ve gotten to know him well in the months Noah and I have been at school and no one who’s met him has a bad word to say about him. (Then again, that might be due to the alcohol thing.) 

He’s also good at giving Noah and I space to hang out, since we both have roommates and I have trouble getting along with mine. He spends a lot of time with his girlfriend, Rose, over at her dorm. Rose and Derrick have different soulmate marks, but neither of them has met their actual soulmates so they seem to be happy for now. I saw Derrick’s once when he was walking around the room with his shirt off. It’s on his upper arm, a silvery pattern that looks vaguely like a rose. The irony. 

“I think I will get going,” I say, then hesitate. “Derrick…” 

He’s digging through his dresser drawer. “Yuh-huh.” 

“If you had a really close friend that you’d fallen out of touch with…and, hypothetically, it was this person’s birthday, but also they’re kind of hypothetically not speaking to you…but you’ve never not spent a birthday with them…” 

Derrick abandons whatever he’s searching for and elbows the drawer shut. “This doesn’t sound like a hypothetical situation.”

“Just humor me.”

“Fine. Okay.” He folds his arms and leans back against the dresser. “So, this person. How long was I friends with them, hypothetically?”

I swallow. “Your entire life, up until around last winter. But it was…difficult. Before that.” 

“Really close?”

I nod. “Best friends.” 

“And you wanna text this person for their birthday, but you guys aren’t really speaking,” he summarizes. 

“ _Hypothetically_.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are the hypothetical odds of this hypothetical person hypothetically texting you back?”

I glance at the blinking cursor on the screen. _April 24th_. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Then…” His mouth twists. “I’m going to say no, Wilder. Plus, it’s late, and they’re probably already asleep. I know this isn’t the answer you wanted, but you should leave it for now. Maybe try again next year.”

_Next year._

My head spins, and it’s only now that it really sets in. It’s been almost a whole year without Tack. 

This isn’t a temporary thing anymore, a squabble between two best friends that’ll find their way back to each other eventually. This was the beginning of the end.

Or, really, the end of the end.

I almost drop my phone. Derrick is eyeing me, concerned. “Min? You good?”

“Yeah.” I shake my head to clear it. “I’m gonna go. Thanks for the…hypothetical advice.”

He snorts. “You’re hypothetically welcome.” 

It’s only after I leave that I check Instagram, and I almost fall down the front steps. Because it’s right there, at the top of my home page, Tack’s bright face grinning at me with the collar of his shirt pulled down to expose a black starburst on his shoulder. _LET_ _’_ _S GOOOO,_ reads the caption, with 135 likes in the past three hours.

That’s it. That’s his soul mark. 

People I don’t recognize are commenting to cheer him on. A girl from our high school who had a crush on him types in a sad emoji and then a laugh-cry emoji. The whole thing is unfamiliar and destabilizing. 

I stare at the mark, reaching out to zoom in. My fingers are shaking, and I bump the screen twice.

A heart briefly appears on the photo before fading away. This time, I really do drop my phone. It hits the grass harmlessly. “Shit,” I hiss. 

_I liked the photo. He’s going to see that I liked the photo._

_Maybe I can unlike it?_ But no, it’s too late, I know that. The notification doesn’t go away. I accept my fate.

So. Tack has a soulmate. Somewhere. Out there. She—or he, I guess—is real, and exists, and is going to find him and marry him someday. 

I’m happy for Tack, but something deep within me twists a little at the mark. 


	2. Chapter 2

AUGUST 2020 

When I wake up the first morning of my sophomore year, it’s to the sound of a hairdryer, because I can never catch a break. 

I sit up groggily, with thirty minutes to go until my phone alarm is set to go off. Unfortunately, my own personal alarm is named Sarah Harden, and she’s sitting in front of a mirror at her desk, brushing out her sleek, strawberry blond hair. Her eyes flick to me distastefully as I reach for my phone.

“Did I wake you?” Her tone suggests no apology.

“Just a bit,” I mutter, scrolling through my notifications. Nothing from my social media pages, not that I really post anything. A text from Noah, letting me know I left my jacket in his car when he dropped me off yesterday. A tweet from my favorite author about a sandwich that looks horrifyingly inedible. A reminder that my English class is in two hours. Nothing out of the ordinary. It feels like no time has passed at all since the spring.

“Earth to Melinda.” Sarah shuts off the hairdryer. “I _said,_ I’ll be out late tonight, so you might be asleep by the time I get in. If you aren’t crashing with your boyfriend.”

She says it with slight acid in her tone, and I wince as I remember that Sarah and Noah dated when they went to the same summer camp after freshman year of high school. (I didn’t go.) Sarah seems to take it as a personal offense that she was assigned a room with her ex’s new girlfriend, and I don’t love living with her, either. It’s less that she’s Noah’s ex and more that she’s just…kind of a bitch. 

She’s brilliant, I know that. She’s doing her major in astrophysics and, as far as I can tell, she’s been killing it in all her courses. She left an essay on her desk once last winter, and I read through it, awed at how effortless it was. (I watched her type up the thing and print it in the space of forty minutes.) Her friends aren’t my favorite people—gossipy cheerleader types, girls that would have picked on me and Tack in high school—but they’re okay, greeting me cheerfully whenever I barge in on their pizza nights so I can drop off my books and get some stuff to go over to Noah’s. 

The only one who never greets me, never really talks to me unless it’s to tell me she’ll be out late or having friends over, is Sarah, even after spending a whole year living in the same room. I don’t really know what to make of her. Something about her just rubs me the wrong way.

“Bye.” She slides her laptop into her backpack and breezes out the door before I’m even fully awake. 

Right. It’s the fact that she seems to hate me, and for absolutely no reason. I think even if Noah were out of the equation, she still wouldn’t give me the time of day. So much for having a roommate.

The most annoying part is that room assignments are for two years. Transfer requests never seem to go through, either—a girl in my Calculus class, Parisa, has been trying to get away from her obnoxious roommate since last year. So there’s not really any point to the move-out struggle. Sarah’s standoffish and sometimes outright rude, but she’s not a nuisance, and I don’t mind her company. I can handle her for one more year. 

The year kick-starts with my basic Tuesday routine: shower, class, lunch with Noah, another class, study with Scott and Jerica for an hour, meet Hamza, Floyd, Maggie, and Cenisa for dinner, head over to Noah’s dorm and hang out with Derrick until he shows up, head back to my dorm and sleep sometime before midnight. 

Wednesdays are game night with the guys on Noah and Derrick’s floor, and Derrick’s the one who sends out the email to make sure everyone’s coming again this year. I’m not the only girl there, surprisingly: Rose shows up with Derrick, Emma joins us with Isaiah, Rachel barges in to hang out with Akio, and Piper crashes the party all by herself. With the exception of Ethan and Toby, who haven’t changed a bit, most of the guys are great, graciously letting us in on their Bro Night with a minimal amount of alcohol and swearing. (Not that any of us would mind. Rose and Rachel are particularly proficient in the alcohol and swearing department.) 

Thursdays, I don’t see Noah, since our schedules conflict too much—I study for bio with Alice, Jamie, and Kharisma in the afternoon, and he has a class directly after that. Plus, Sarah usually spends Thursday nights out, which makes it my one shot per week to read in my room in peace.

Fridays, I’m free from classes, so I try to get some work done and then meet Noah and Derrick for coffee in the afternoon. I end up spending most weekends entirely with Noah, as well. It’s slightly suffocating, but I guess it’s nice that I get to see him as much as I do. 

It’s almost exactly like last year, but with different classes and different people. Parisa and her boyfriend Cyrus join our Tuesday study group. Game nights expand every few weeks. I work Mondays and Thursdays, effectively barring me from seeing Noah two days a week. My bio study group shifts to after dinner in the library. Derrick starts bringing Rose to our Friday coffee meetings. 

I’m used to it by now, but I remember well my breakneck high school schedule. Somehow, it didn’t feel difficult with Tack by my side. There are days here where I would kill to just…hug him. Hug him and not let go for at least an hour. 

Even a phone call. 

(There’s no way he’d pick up. It’s been almost two years.)

My finger hovers over the dial button on his contact, but I can’t bring myself to press it.

“Get ahold of yourself,” I whisper to the girl in the mirror hanging on the back of the door. She’s in her pajamas, and her short black hair is a rumpled mess, and she’s hung up on the boy who decided that he wanted no part of her life anymore. The worst part is that she misses him despite that. 

I put my phone down on my desk. I’m not calling Tack. Not today, not tomorrow, not until he decides to call me.

And I know, deep down, he never will.

…

Sarah’s slamming things around our room when I walk in. She barely notices my presence as I carefully shut the door behind me. Her eyes are slightly red as she shoves a handful of pens into a drawer and slams it shut. 

“Everything okay?” I ask quietly.

She whirls. “Min. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Just got in.” I set my bag on the floor. “So, uh…are you good?”

She turns back to her desk and starts straightening things. I’ve just about given up on getting an answer, raking a brush through my hair, when she heaves a sigh. “Tomorrow’s my birthday.”

I jerk my head up. “What? Really?”

“Yeah,” she says. “The big nineteen.” 

I set the hairbrush down. “Tomorrow’s my birthday, too.”

She actually turns around to look at me. “No kidding. September seventeenth?”

I nod. “And, uh…Noah’s birthday, too.” 

“Right. Forgot about that one.” Her expression clouds. “Nineteen for both of you guys, too?”

I nod, biting my lip. I know what she’s getting at. I’ve been arguing with Noah…a lot. Neither of us has our marks yet. We’ve been dating for three years, knowing full well that tomorrow could cement or break our relationship. 

Tonight, really. We promised to be together at midnight. 

“It’s terrifying,” I admit. “The possibility of knowing that after tonight…some _stranger_ might have more meaning in my life than Noah.”

“I know the feeling.” Sarah smooths her hair. “My girlfriend has her mark already. I just…have to see if I get it, too.” 

“Who’s your girlfriend?” I’ve never thought of Sarah as having, like, actual feelings for anyone. Or anything. Plus, I know her comings and goings pretty well, and she’s never mentioned dating anyone.

She raises an eyebrow at me, and I know our little bonding moment is over. 

“I’m sure you and Noah will be fine,” she says. “You’re good together.”

It feels like a peace offering. I nod and pick up the hairbrush, working through a snarl just above my chin. “Thanks. Hope you and your mysterious girlfriend are fine, too.”

Sarah sneers at me. “Can I expect that you won’t be home tonight?”

“Probably.” I’ll stay over at Noah’s no matter what. Derrick’s promised to clear out for the night so we can have some space to work out whatever we need to.

We’re going to be fine, me and Noah. Who else could possibly compete with him?


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you think it’ll look like?”

Eleven fifteen. Noah and I are lying on his bed, counting the minutes until we get our marks. 

“If I had to draw my perfect design?” I scavenge on his bedside table for a piece of paper and a pencil. “I saw a really pretty one that was three arrows notched in a bow.”

“Two arrows,” Noah suggests. “One for each of us.”

“Or a double-sided arrow.” I set the paper between us and sketch it out. It’s a truly terrible drawing. “Maybe some interlocking triangles?”

“Maybe it’s a Slinky,” Noah suggests, taking the pencil and drawing a bunch of consecutive loops. “Or, like, a really detailed image of something. Like an Oreo. Could you imagine your soul mark being an Oreo?” 

“I heard of someone who got a double helix,” I say. “But not a cookie.” 

“Maybe it’s a bird,” Noah says.

“Or a snake.” 

“Or that yellow thing from Despicable Me.” 

I gag. “If I got a minion as a soul mark, I’d cut the thing off my body.” 

Noah laughs and leans in to kiss me. When he pulls back, his face is sober. “Min…if we don’t…if we have different…”

“Stop.” I wriggle closer to him. “We’ll get each other. It’ll be okay.”

“I just want you to know that I love you anyway,” he says. “I love you, Min.” 

“I love you, too.” Automatic. The words require no thought. My mind is otherwise occupied with spinning Oreos. Double-sided arrows aimed at genetically engineered corn kernels.

Forty minutes. Then thirty-eight. I close my eyes, ready to wait out the night in peace. But somehow, between one blink and the next, the clock changes.

Wait.

I freeze.

The clock reads 11:58. 

I jerk into an upright position, so startled that I fall off the bed and hit the floor. “Fuck!”

Noah’s instantly upright. “Min?”

“We fell asleep!” I point to the clock. “It’s almost midnight?”

Noah goes pale, reaching for the lamp switch. “Min…”

“We’re getting our marks in _two minutes,_ Noah!”

“Min.” 

I’m on a rant. “And what happens if we don’t get each other?” I pace the room, keeping one watchful eye on the clock. “What happens then?”

“MIN!”

I finally stop and look at him. There’s no color in his face.

“What?” I snap.

“The clock,” he says. “It’s a minute slow.” 

I stare at him, uncomprehending. He points to the clock, which reads 11:59.

The clock is a minute slow.

“Oh,” I say quietly.

It’s midnight.

_Time’s up._

“Back of your neck.” His voice is tense, and he hasn’t moved. I think he’s afraid to move. I’m afraid for him to move.

“What is it?”

“It looks like just a splotch in this light. Come here.”

And as he shifts, his wrist catches the lamp’s glow, and I see the intersecting lines on the inside. Definitely not a splotch of anything.

There’s a sinking feeling in my chest as he examines the back of my neck, his fingers lightly brushing it. “It’s a star,” he says quietly. 

A jolt goes through my veins. “Did you say it’s a star?”

“Five-pointed, with markings around the edges. More of a starburst, really—”

Panicked, I seize my phone and aim the camera at the back of my neck. When I pull it back to look at the photo, my stomach drops about nine stories.

“Oh,” I say, “my God." 

Noah’s staring at his wrist, looking horrified. 

“It’s wrong,” I say numbly. “It has to be wrong.”

“Of course it’s wrong.” His voice cracks. “We’re soulmates, Min. You and me. Not…whoever the hell else has these marks.” 

My entire body is ice. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t follow Tack on Instagram. Of course he doesn’t know. 

How will he find out? _How am I supposed to tell him?_

I realize Noah’s staring at me as I cycle through a dozen emotions. “Min?”

“I have to go.” I grab my bag and keys. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Noah.” 

“You were going to sleep over,” he says. “You don’t have classes tomorrow.”

I don’t answer, shaking from head to toe as I step outside the door before my eyes well. Out in the hallway, the glare of a phone screen flickers off and a shadowy figure stands up, and I try not to burst into tears in front of some random person.

“Hey, Min.”

It’s not a random person, thank God. “Derrick? What are you doing in the hallway?”

“I thought something might go wrong tonight. Figured I should stick around, just in case.” He wraps me in a hug as the tears finally overwhelm me. “Different marks, huh?”

“Yeah,” I manage, pulling back and wiping the moisture from my eyes, determined not to fully break down. “I…Noah doesn’t know who he has. Yet.” 

Derrick eyes me. “Do you?”

Tack’s wide smile echoes through my mind. I shiver.

“That bad, huh?” 

“Do you remember that hypothetical childhood best friend I told you about?” 

Derrick’s eyes widen. “Jesus.” 

I sniff. “Don’t tell Noah,” I say. “Not yet. I don’t know how to break it to him that it’s Tack. I don’t…I can’t even process that yet.”

“Lips are zipped.” Derrick tips his head toward his room. “I’m gonna go check on Noah, but text me if you need anything, huh?”

“Thanks.” 

He gives me a half-smile, then disappears into the room he shares with Noah.

…

I totally forgot that I told Sarah I was going to be out tonight. And I probably would have been, if it weren’t for the Tack news. I just couldn’t deal with that.

Anyway. I shouldn’t be shocked by the fact that _Alice freaking Cho_ is in Sarah’s bed with her. She jerks awake and flicks the lamp on as I come in. 

Great. My face is tearstained and we have company. 

“Min?” Sarah’s voice is borderline furious until Alice turns on the light and she sees my face. Her expression softens. “No dice?”

“Sorry,” I choke. “I forgot. I can go.” 

She rolls her eyes. “No. Don’t. It’s fine. I assume things went badly with Noah?” 

Alice rolls over to face me. “Noah Livingston? Oh, is it your birthday, too?”

“It was both of our birthdays,” I explain. “And, apparently, I have the same mark as my ex-best friend, which I haven’t explained to Noah yet, because _how do you start that conversation, exactly?_ ” 

Alice winces. “I’m so sorry, Min.” 

“Should have guessed that you’d have the drama,” Sarah mutters, flopping back onto her pillow and hitting the lamp switch over Alice’s shoulder. “Try not to cry yourself to sleep. I have a quiz in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @tackmins


End file.
